No More Learning

When their interview concluded it was already
merging towards the evening, and the young Prince returned to the
palace.

The Royal mother of the reigning Emperor (formerly Koki-den-Niogo)
would also have visited the ex-Emperor but for her repugnance to
encounter the Princess Wistaria, who never left his side.

In the course of a few days the strength of the Emperor began to
decline, and at last he quietly and peacefully passed away.

And now the Court went into general mourning, and Genji, being one of
the principal mourners, put on a dress of Wistaria cloth;[93] so
frequently did misfortune fall on him in the course of a few years,
and his cares became really great.

The funeral and the weekly requiems were performed with all due pomp
and ceremony, and when the forty-ninth day had passed, all the private
household of his late Majesty dispersed in the midst of the dreary
weather of the latter part of December to their own homes; the
Princess Wistaria retiring to her own residence in Sanjio, accompanied
by her brother, Prince Hiobkio.

True, it is that his late Majesty had been for some time off the
throne, but his authority had by no means diminished on that account.
But his death now altered the state of things, and the ascendancy of
the family of Udaijin became assured. The people in general
entertained great fear that infelicitous changes would take place in
public affairs, and among these Genji and the Princess Wistaria were
the most disturbed by such anxieties.

The new year came in, but nothing joyful or exciting accompanied its
presence--the world was still.

Genji kept himself to his mansion. In those days, when his father was
still in power, his courtyard was filled with the carriages of
visitors, especially when the days of the appointments were
approaching; but now this was changed, and his household secretaries
had but little to occupy them.

In January the Princess Momo-zono (peach-gardens) was chosen for the
Saiin, of the Temple of Kamo, her predecessor having retired from
office, on account of the mourning for her father, the late
ex-Emperor.

There were not many precedents for Princesses of the second generation
being appointed to this position; but this Princess was so chosen,
owing, it seems, to the circumstance that there was no immediate issue
of the Imperial blood suitable for this office.

In February the youngest daughter of the Udaijin became the
Naishi-no-Kami,[94] in the place of the former one, who had left
office and become a nun after the death of the ex-Emperor.

She took up her residence in the Kokiden, which was till lately
occupied by her sister, the Empress-mother, who at this period spent
most of her time at her father's, and who when she came to the Court
made the Ume-Tsubo (the plum-chamber) her apartment.

Meanwhile the Empress-mother, who was by nature sagacious and
revengeful, and who during the late Emperor's life had been fain to
disguise her spiteful feelings, now conceived designs of vengeance
against those who had been adverse to her; and this spirit was
directed especially against Genji and his father-in-law,
Sadaijin--against the latter because he had married his only daughter
to Genji against the wishes of the Emperor when Heir-apparent, and
because during the life of the late Emperor his influence eclipsed
that of her father, Udaijin, who had long been his political
adversary.

The Emperor, it is true, never forgot the dying injunctions of his
father, and never failed in sympathy with Genji; but he was still
young, with a weak mind, and therefore he was under the influence of
his mother and grandfather, Udaijin, and was often constrained by
them in his actions to go contrary to his own wishes.

Such being the state of things, Sadaijin seldom appeared at Court, and
his loss of influence became manifest. Genji, too, had become less
adventurous and more steady in his life; and in his mansion Violet
became the favorite object of attraction, in whose behalf the ceremony
of Mogi had been duly performed some time before, and who had been
presented to her father. The latter had for a long time regarded her
as lost, and even now he never forgave the way in which his daughter
had been taken away by Genji.

The summer had passed without any particular events, and autumn
arrived. Genji, wishing to have a little change, went to the monastery
of Unlinin,[95] and spent some days in the chamber of a rissh
(discipline-master), who was a brother of his mother. Maple-trees were
changing their tints, and the beautiful scenery around this spot made
him almost forget his home. His daily amusement was to gather together
several monks, and make them discuss before him.

He himself perused the so-called "sixty volumes,"[96] and would get
the monks to explain any point which was not clear to his
understanding.

When he came to reflect on the various circumstances taking place in
the capital, he would have preferred remaining in his present
retirement; but he could not forget one whom he had left behind there,
and this caused him to return. After he had requested a splendid
expiatory service to be performed, he left the monastery. The monks
and the neighbors came to see him depart. His carriage was still
black, and his sleeves were still of Wistaria, and in this gloomy
state he made his return to his mansion in Nijio.

He brought back some twigs of maple, whose hues, when compared with
those in his own garden, he perceived were far more beautiful. He,
therefore, sent one of these to the residence of Princess Wistaria,
who had it put in a vase, and hung at the side of her veranda.

Next day he went to the Imperial Palace, to see his brother the
Emperor, who was passing a quiet and unoccupied leisure, and soon
entered into a pleasant conversation on matters both past and present.
This Emperor, it must be remembered, was a person of quiet ways and
moderate ambition. He was kind in heart, and affectionate to his
relatives. His eyes were shut to the more objectionable actions of
Genji. He talked with him on different topics of literature, and asked
his opinions on different questions. He also talked on several
poetical subjects, and on the news of the day--of the departure of the
Saigu.

The conversation then led to the little Prince, the Heir-apparent. The
Emperor said, "Our father has enjoined me to adopt him as my son, and
to be kind to him in every way; but he was always a favorite of mine,
and this injunction was unnecessary, for I could not be any more
particularly kind to him. I am very glad that he is very clever for
his age in penmanship and the like. "

Genji replied, "Yes, I also notice that he is of no ordinary promise;
but yet we must admit that his ability may be only partial. "

After this conversation Genji left. On his way he came across a nephew
of the Empress-mother, who seems to have been a person of rather
arrogant and rough character. As he crossed Genji's path he stopped
for a minute, and loudly reciting,

"The white rainbow crossed the sun,
And the Prince was frightened,"[97]

passed on. Genji at once understood what it was intended for, but
prudently proceeded on his way homeward without taking any notice of
it.

Let us now proceed to the Princess Wistaria. Since she had been
bereaved of the late Emperor she retired to her private residence. She
fully participated in all those inglorious mortifications to which
Genji and his father-in-law were subjected. She was convinced she
would never suffer such cruel treatment as that which Seki-Foojin[98]
did at the hands of her rival, but she was also convinced that some
sort of misfortune was inevitable. These thoughts at last led her to
determine to give up the world. The fortune of her child, however, had
been long a subject of anxiety to her; and though she had determined
to do so, the thought of him had affected her mind still more keenly.
She had hitherto rarely visited the Court, where he was residing; for
her visits might be unpleasing to the feelings of her rival, the other
ex-Empress, and prejudicial to his interests.

However, she now went there unceremoniously, in order to see him
before she carried out her intention to retire. In the course of her
chatting with him, she said, "Suppose, that while I do not see you for
some time, my features become changed, what would you think? "

The little Prince, who watched her face, replied, "Like
Shikib? [99]--no--that can't be. " The Princess smiled a little, and
said, "No, that is not so; Shikib's is changed by age, but suppose
mine were different from hers, and my hair became shorter than hers,
and I wore a black dress like a chaplain-in-waiting, and I could not
see you often, any longer. " And she became a little sad, which made
the Prince also a little downcast.

Serene was his face, and finely pencilled were his eyebrows. He was
growing up fast, and his teeth were a little decayed and
blackened,[100] which gave a peculiar beauty to his smile, and the
prettiness of his appearance only served to increase her regret; and
with a profound pensiveness she returned to her residence.

In the middle of December she performed Mihakko (a grand special
service on the anniversary of death), which she was carefully
preparing for some days. The rolls of the Kio (Buddhist Bible) used
for this occasion were made most magnificently--the spindle of jade,
the covering of rich satin, and its case of woven bamboo ornamented
likewise, as well as the flower-table.

The first day's ceremony was for her father, the second for her
mother, and the third for the late Emperor. Several nobles were
present, and participated, Genji being one of them. Different presents
were made by them all. At the end of the third day's performance her
vows of retirement were, to the surprise of all, announced by the
priest. At the conclusion of the whole ceremony, the chief of the Hiye
monastery, whom she had sent for, arrived, and from whom she received
the "commandments. " She then had her hair cut off by her uncle, Bishop
of Yokogawa.

These proceedings cast a gloom over the minds of all present, but
especially on those of Hiob-Kio, her brother, and Genji; and soon
after every one departed for his home.

Another New Year came in, and the aspect of the Court was brighter. A
royal banquet and singing dances were soon expected to take place, but
the Princess Wistaria no longer took any heed of them, and most of her
time was devoted to prayer in a new private chapel, which she had had
built expressly for herself in her grounds.

Genji came to pay his New Year's visit on the seventh day, but he saw
no signs of the season. All nobles who used to pay visits of
felicitation, now shunned her house and gathered at the mansion of
Udaijin, near her own. The only things which caught Genji's attention
in her mansion was a white horse,[101] which was being submitted to
her inspection as on former occasions. When he entered, he noticed
that all the hangings of the room and the dresses of the inmates were
of the dark hues of conventual life. The only things that there seemed
to herald spring, were the melting of the thin ice on the surface of
the lake, and the budding of the willows on its banks. The scene
suggested many reflections to his mind; and, after the usual greetings
of the season, and a short conversation, he quitted the mansion.

It should be here noticed that none of her household officers received
any promotion or appointment to any sinecure office, or honorary
title, even where the merit of the individual deserved it, or the
Court etiquette required it. Nay, even the proper income for her
household expenses was, under different pretexts, neglected. As for
the Princess, she must have been prepared for such inevitable
consequences of her giving up the world; but it ought not to be taken
as implying that the sacrifice should be so great. Hence these facts
caused much disappointment to her household, and the mind of the
Princess herself was sometimes moved by feelings of mortification.
Nevertheless, troubled about herself no longer, she only studied the
welfare and prosperity of her child, and persevered in the most
devout prayers for this. She also remembered a secret sin, still
unknown to the world, which tormented the recesses of her soul, and
she was constantly praying to Buddha to lighten her burden.

About the same time, tired of the world, both public and private,
Sadaijin sent in his resignation. The Emperor had not forgotten how
much he was respected by the late ex-Emperor, how the latter had
enjoined him always to regard him as a support of the country, and he
several times refused to accept his resignation; but Sadaijin
persevered in his request, and confined himself to his own mansion.
This gave complete ascendancy to the family of Udaijin. All the sons
of Sadaijin, who formerly had enjoyed considerable distinction at
Court, were now fast sinking into insignificance, and had very little
influence. To-no-Chiujio, the eldest of them, was one of those
affected by the change of circumstances. True, he was married to the
fourth daughter of Udaijin; but he passed little time with her, she
still residing with her father, and he was not among the favorite
sons-in-law. His name was also omitted in the appointment list on
promotion day, which seems to have been intended by his father-in-law
as a warning.

Under such circumstances he was constantly with Genji, and they
studied and played together. They both well remembered how they used
to compete with each other in such matters as studying and playing,
and they still kept their rivalry alive. They would sometimes send for
some scholars, and would compose poems together, or play the "Covering
Rhymes. "[102] They seldom appeared at Court, while in the outer world
different scandals about them were increasing day by day.

One day in summer To-no-Chiujio came to pay his usual visit to Genji.
He had brought by his page several interesting books, and Genji also
ordered several rare books from his library. Many scholars were sent
for, in such a manner as not to appear too particular; and many nobles
and University students were also present. They were divided into two
parties, the right and the left, and began betting on the game of
"Covering Rhymes. " Genji headed the right, and To-no-Chiujio the left.
To his credit the former often hit on the most difficult rhymes, with
which the scholars were puzzled. At last the left was beaten by the
right, consequently To-no-Chiujio gave an entertainment to the party,
as arranged in their bet.

They also amused themselves by writing prose and verse. Some roses
were blossoming in front of the veranda, which possessed a quiet charm
different from those of the full season of spring.

The sight of these afforded them a delightful enjoyment while they
were partaking of refreshment. A son of To-no-Chiujio, about eight or
nine years old, was present. He was the second boy by his wife,
Udaijin's daughter, and a tolerable player on the Soh-flute. Both his
countenance and disposition were amiable. The party was in full
enjoyment when the boy rose and sang "Takasago" (high sand). [103] When
he proceeded to the last clause of his song,

"Oh, could I see that lovely flower,
That blossomed this morn! "

To-no-Chiujio offered his cup to Genji, saying,

"How glad am I to see your gentleness,
Sweet as the newly blooming flower! "

Genji, smiling, took the cup as he replied,

"Yet that untimely flower, I fear,
The rain will beat, the wind will tear,
Ere it be fully blown. "

And added,

"Oh, I myself am but a sere leaf. "

Genji was pressed by To-no-Chiujio to take several more cups, and his
humor reached its height. Many poems, both in Chinese and Japanese,
were composed by those present, most of whom paid high compliment to
Genji. He felt proud, and unconsciously exclaimed, "The son of King
Yuen, the brother of King Mu;" and would have added, "the King Ching's
----"[104] but there he paused.

To describe the scene which followed at a time such as this, when
every mind is not in due equilibrium, is against the warning of
Tsurayuki, the poet, so I will here pass over the rest.

Naishi-no-Kami, the young daughter of Udaijin, now retired to her home
from the Court, having been attacked by ague; and the object of her
retirement was to enjoy rest and repose, as well as to have spells
performed for her illness.

This change did her great good, and she speedily recovered from the
attack.

We had mentioned before that she always had a tender yearning for
Genji, and she was the only one of her family who entertained any
sympathy or good feeling towards him. She had seen, for some time, the
lack of consideration and the indifference with which he was treated
by her friends, and used to send messages of kind inquiry. Genji, on
his part also, had never forgotten her, and the sympathy which she
showed towards him excited in his heart the most lively appreciation.

These mutual feelings led at length to making appointments for meeting
during her retirement. Genji ran the risk of visiting her secretly in
her own apartments. This was really hazardous, more especially so
because her sister, the Empress-mother, was at this time staying in
the same mansion. We cannot regard either the lady or Genji as
entirely free from the charge of imprudence, which, on his part, was
principally the result of his old habits of wandering.

It was on a summer's evening that Genji contrived to see her in her
own apartment, and while they were conversing, a thunderstorm suddenly
broke forth, and all the inmates got up and ran to and fro in their
excitement. Genji had lost the opportunity of escape, and, besides,
the dawn had already broken.

When the storm became lighter and the thunder ceased, Udaijin went
first to the room of his royal daughter, and then to that of
Naishi-no-Kami. The noise of the falling rain made his footsteps
inaudible, and all unexpectedly he appeared at the door and said:
"What a storm it has been! Were you not frightened? "

This voice startled both Genji and the lady. The former hid himself on
one side of the room, and the latter stepped forth to meet her father.
Her face was deeply flushed, which he soon noticed. He said, "You seem
still excited; is your illness not yet quite passed? " While he was so
saying he caught sight of the sash of a man's cloak, twisted round her
skirt.

"How strange! " thought he. The next moment he noticed some papers
lying about, on which something had been scribbled. "This is more
strange! " he thought again; and exclaimed, "Whose writings are these? "
At this request she looked aside, and all at once noticed the sash
round her skirt, and became quite confused. Udaijin was a man of quiet
nature; so, without distressing her further, bent down to pick up the
papers, when by so doing he perceived a man behind the screen, who was
apparently in great confusion and was endeavoring to hide his face.
However, Udaijin soon discovered who he was, and without any further
remarks quitted the room, taking the papers with him.

The troubled state of Genji and the lady may be easily imagined, and
in great anxiety he left the scene.

Now it was the character of Udaijin that he could never keep anything
to himself, even his thoughts. He therefore went to the eldest
daughter--that is, the Empress-mother, and told her that he had found
papers which clearly were in the handwriting of Genji, and that though
venturesomeness is the characteristic of men, such conduct as that
which Genji had indulged in was against all propriety. "People said,"
continued Udaijin, "that he was always carrying on a correspondence
with the present Saiin. Were this true, it would not only be against
public decorum, but his own interest; although I did not entertain any
suspicion before. "

When the sagacious Empress-mother heard this, her anger was something
fearful. "See the Emperor," she said; "though he is Emperor, how
little he is respected! When he was Heir-apparent, the ex-Sadaijin,
not having presented his daughter to him, gave her to Genji, then a
mere boy, on the eve of his Gembuk; and now this Genji boldly dares to
carry on such intrigues with a lady who is intended to be the Royal
consort! How daring, also, is his correspondence with the sacred
Saiin! On the whole, his conduct, in every respect, does not appear to
be as loyal as might be expected, and this only seems to arise from
his looking forward to the ascent of the young Prince to the throne. "

Udaijin somehow felt the undesirability of this anger, and he began to
change his tone, and tried to soothe her, saying: "You have some
reason for being so affected; yet don't disclose such matters to the
public, and pray don't tell it to the Emperor. It is, of course, an
impropriety on the part of the Prince, but we must admit that our
girl, also, would not escape censure. We had better first warn her
privately among ourselves; and if the matter does not even then come
all right, I will myself be responsible for that. "

The Empress-mother, however, could not calm her angry feelings. It
struck her as a great disrespect to her dignity, on Genji's part, to
venture to intrude into the very mansion where she was staying. And
she began to meditate how to turn this incident into a means of
carrying out the design which she had been forming for some time.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 89: A temporary residence expressly built for the Saigu to
undergo purification. ]

[Footnote 90: A peculiar gate erected in front of the sacred places. ]

[Footnote 91: Shinto priests. ]

[Footnote 92: Name of a river of the province of Ise, which the
travellers had to cross. ]

[Footnote 93: A dress made of the bark of the Wistaria was worn by
those who were in deep mourning for near relatives. ]

[Footnote 94: This was an office held by a Court lady, whose duty it
was to act as a medium of communication in the transmitting of
messages between the Emperor and State officials. ]

[Footnote 95: It is said that the tomb of the authoress of this work
is to be found at this spot. ]

[Footnote 96: In the Tendai sect of Buddhists there are sixty volumes
of the theological writings which are considered most authoritative
for their doctrine. ]

[Footnote 97: A passage of a Chinese history. The story is, that a
Prince of a certain Chinese kingdom contrived to have assassinated an
Emperor, his enemy. When he sent off the assassin this event took
place. The allusion here seems to imply the allegation that Genji
intended high treason. ]

[Footnote 98: She was the favorite of the first Emperor of the Hung
dynasty in China, and the rival of the Empress. When the Emperor died,
the Empress, a clever and disdainful woman, revenged herself by
cutting off her feet, and her arms, and making away with her son. ]

[Footnote 99: This seems to have been the name of an aged attendant. ]

[Footnote 100: Among Japanese children it often happens that the milk
teeth become black and decayed, which often gives a charm to their
expression. ]

[Footnote 101: It was the custom to show a white horse on the seventh
day of the new year to the Empress, the superstition being that this
was a protestation against evil spirits. ]

[Footnote 102: A game consisting in opening Chinese poetry books and
covering the rhymes, making others guess them. ]

[Footnote 103: Name of a ballad. ]

[Footnote 104: In Chinese history it is recorded that in giving an
injunction to his son, Duke Choau, a great statesman of the eleventh
century B. C. , used these words: "I am the son of King Yuen, the
brother of King Mu, and the uncle of King Ching; but I am so ready in
receiving men in any way distinguished, that I am often interrupted
three times at my dinner, or in my bath. " It would seem that Genji, in
the pride of his feeling, unconsciously made the above quotation in
reference to himself. ]




CHAPTER XI

VILLA OF FALLING FLOWERS


The troubles of Genji increased day by day, and the world became
irksome to him. One incident, however, deserves a brief notice before
we enter into the main consequences of these troubles.

There was a lady who had been a Niogo at the Court of the late
ex-Emperor, and who was called Reikeiden-Niogo, from the name of her
chamber. She had borne no child to him, and after his death she,
together with a younger sister, was living in straitened
circumstances. Genji had long known both of them, and they were often
aided by the liberality with which he cheerfully assisted them, both
from feelings of friendship, and out of respect to his late father.

He, at this time, kept himself quiet at his own home, but he now paid
these ladies a visit one evening, when the weather, after a
long-continued rain, had cleared up. He conversed with them on topics
of past times until late in the evening. The waning moon threw her
faint light over the tall trees standing in the garden, which spread
their dark shadows over the ground. From among them an orange-tree in
full blossom poured forth its sweet perfume, and a Hototo-gisu[105]
flew over it singing most enchantingly.

"'Ah! how he recollects his own friend! '" said Genji, and continued:--

"To this home of 'falling flower,'
The odors bring thee back again,
And now thou sing'st, in evening hour,
Thy faithful loving strain. "

To this the elder lady replied:--

"At the home where one lives, all sadly alone,
And the shadow of friendship but seldom is cast,
These blossoms reach the bright days that are gone
And bring to our sadness the joys of the past. "

And, after a long and friendly conversation, Genji returned to his
home. One may say that the character of Genji was changeable, it is
true, yet we must do him justice for his kind-heartedness to his old
acquaintances such as these two sisters, and this would appear to be
the reason why he seldom estranged the hearts of those whom he liked.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 105: The name of a small bird which appears about the time
when the orange trees are in blossom. It sings, and is most active in
the evening. In poetry, therefore, the orange blossom and this bird
are associated, and they are both, the blossom and the bird, emblems
of old memories.
]




CHAPTER XII

EXILE AT SUMA


Genji at last made up his mind to undergo a voluntary exile, before
the opinion of the Imperial Court should be publicly announced against
him. He heard that the beautiful sea-coast along Suma was a most
suitable place for retirement, and that, though formerly populous,
there were now only a few fishermen's dwellings scattered here and
there. To Suma he finally determined to go into voluntary exile.

When he had thus made up his mind he became somewhat regretful to
leave the capital, although it had hitherto appeared ungenial. The
first thing which disturbed his mind was the young Violet, whom he
could not take with him. The young lady, also, in the "Villa of
Falling Flowers" (notwithstanding that he was not a frequent visitor)
was another object of his regret.

In spite of these feelings he prepared to set off at the end of March,
and at length it came within a few days of the time fixed for his
departure, when he went privately, under the cover of the evening, to
the mansion of the ex-Sadaijin, in an ajiro carriage, generally used
by women. He proceeded into the inner apartments, where he was greeted
by the nurse of his little child. The boy was growing fast, was able
to stand by this time and to toddle about, and run into Genji's arms
when he saw him. The latter took him on his knee, saying, "Ah! my good
little fellow, I have not seen you for some time, but you do not
forget me, do you? " The ex-Sadaijin now entered. He said, "Often have
I thought of coming to have a talk with you, but you see my health has
been very bad of late, and I seldom appear at Court, having resigned
my office. It would be impolitic to give cause to be talked about, and
for it to be said that I stretch my old bones when private matters
please me. Of course, I have no particular reason to fear the world;
still, if there is anything dreadful, it is the demagogical world.
When I see what unpleasant things are happening to you, which were no
more probable than that the heavens should fall, I really feel that
everything in the world is irksome to me. "

"Yes, what you say is indeed true," replied Genji. "However, all
things in the world--this or that--are the outcome of what we have
done in our previous existence. Hence if we dive to the bottom we
shall see that every misfortune is only the result of our own
negligence. Examples of men's losing the pleasures of the Court are,
indeed, not wanting. Some of these cases may not go so far as a
deprivation of titles and honors, as is mine;[106] still, if one thus
banished from the pleasures of Court, behaves himself as unconcernedly
as those to whom no such misfortune has happened, this would not be
becoming. So, at least, it is considered in a foreign country.
Repentance is what one ought to expect in such circumstances, and
banishment to a far-off locality is a measure generally adopted for
offences different from ordinary ones. If I, simply relying on my
innocence, pass unnoticed the recent displeasure of the Court, this
would only bring upon me greater dishonor. I have, therefore,
determined to go into voluntary exile, before receiving such a
sentence from the Court. "

Then the conversation fell back, as usual, on the times of the late
ex-Emperor, which made them sad; while the child also, who innocently
played near, made them still more gloomy. The ex-Sadaijin went on to
say:--"There is no moment when I ever forget the mother of the boy,
but now I almost dare to think that she was fortunate in being short
lived, and being free from witnessing the dreamlike sorrow we now
suffer. With regard to the boy, the first thing which strikes me as
unbearable is that he may pass some time of his lovely childhood away
from the gaze of your eyes. There are, as you say, no want of
instances of persons suffering a miserable fate, without having
committed any real offence; yet still, in such cases, there was some
pretext to justify their being so treated. I cannot see any such
against you. "

While he was thus speaking To-no-Chiujio joined them, and, partaking
of _sake_, they continued their conversation till late in the
evening. This night Genji remained in the mansion.

Early the next morning he returned to his own residence, and he spent
the whole day with Violet in the western wing. It should here be
noticed that she was scarcely ever with her father, even from
childhood. He strongly disapproved of his daughter being with Genji,
and of the way in which she had been carried off, so he scarcely ever
had any communication with her, or did he visit her. These
circumstances made her feel Genji's affection more keenly than she
otherwise would have; hence her sorrow at the thought of parting with
him in a few days may be easily imagined.

Towards the evening Prince Sotz came with To-no-Chiujio and some
others to pay him a visit. Genji, in order to receive them, rose to
put on one of his Naoshi, which was plain, without pattern, as proper
for one who had no longer a title. Approaching the mirror, to comb his
hair, he noticed that his face had grown much thinner.

"Oh, how changed I appear," he exclaimed. "Am I really like this image
which I see of myself? " he said, turning to the girl, who cast on him
a sad and tearful glance. Genji continued:--

"Though changed I wander far away,
My soul shall still remain with you,
Perhaps in this mirror's mystic ray,
My face may linger still in view. "

To this Violet replied:--

"If in this mirror I could see,
Always your face, then it would be
My consolation when thou art gone. "

As she said this she turned her face to one side of the room, and by
doing so obscured the tears gathering in her soft eyes. Genji then
left her to receive his friends, who, however, did not remain long,
leaving the mansion after a short conversation of a consolatory
nature. This evening Genji paid his visit to the sisters of the
"Falling Flower" villa.

On the following day the final arrangements necessary for his
household affairs were made at his residence. The management of the
mansion was intrusted to a few confidential friends; while that of his
lands and pasture, and the charge of his documents, were intrusted to
the care of Violet, to whom he gave every instruction what she should
do. Besides, he enjoined Shionagon, in whom he placed his confidence,
to give her every assistance. He told all the inmates who wished to
remain in the mansion, in order to await his return, that they might
do so. He also made an appropriate present to the nurse of his boy,
and to the ladies of the "Villa of Falling Flowers. " When all these
things were accomplished, he occupied himself in writing farewell
letters to his intimate friends, such as the young daughter of Udaijin
and others, to none of whom he had paid a visit.

On the evening prior to his departure he went on horseback to visit
the tomb of his father. On his way he called on the Princess Wistaria,
and thence proceeded to the mountain where the remains reposed. The
tomb was placed among tall growing grass, under thick and gloomy
foliage. Genji advanced to the tomb, and, half kneeling down before
it, and half sobbing, uttered many words of remembrance and sorrow. Of
course no reply came forth. The moon by this time was hidden behind
dark clouds, and the winds blew keen and nipping, when suddenly a
shadowy phantom of the dead stood before Genji's eyes.

"How would his image look on me,
Knew he the secret of the past;
As yonder moon in clouded sky,
Looks o'er the scene mysteriously. "

He returned to his mansion late in the night.

Early in the morning he sent a letter to O Miobu, the nurse of the
Heir-apparent, in which he said: "I at last leave the capital, to-day.
I know not when I may come and see the Prince again. On him my
thoughts and anxieties are concentrated, above all else. Realize these
feelings in your own mind, and tell them to him. " He also sent the
following, fastened to a bough of cherry flowers, already becoming
thin:--

"When shall I see these scenes again,
And view the flowers of spring in bloom,
Like rustic from his mountain home,
A mere spectator shall I come? "

These were carefully read by O Miobu to the Prince, and when he was
asked what she should write in answer, he said: "Write that I said
that since I feel every longing to see him, when I do not see him for
a long time, how shall I feel when he goes away altogether? " Thereupon
she wrote an answer, in which she indefinitely stated that she had
shown the letter to the Prince, whose answer was simple, yet very
affectionate, and so on, with the following:--

"'Tis sad that fair blossoms so soon fade away,
In the darkness of winter no flower remains,
But let spring return with its sunshiny ray,
Then once more the flowers we look on again. "

Now, with regard to the recent disgrace of Genji, the public in
general did not approve of the severity which the Court had shown to
him. Moreover, he had been constantly with the Emperor, his father,
since the age of seven, and his requests had been always cheerfully
listened to by the latter; hence there were very many, especially
among public servants of the ordinary class, who were much indebted to
him. However, none of them now came to pay their respects to him. It
seems that in a world of intrigue none dares do what is right for fear
of risking his own interests. Such being the state of things, Genji,
during the whole day, was unoccupied, and the time was entirely spent
with Violet. Then, at his usual late hour in the evening, he, in a
travelling dress of incognito, at length left the capital, where he
had passed five-and-twenty years of his life.

His attendants, Koremitz and Yoshikiyo being among them, were seven or
eight in number. He took with him but little luggage. All ostentatious
robes, all unnecessary articles of luxury were dispensed with. Among
things taken, was a box containing the works of Hak-rak-ten (a famous
Chinese poet), with other books, and besides these a _kin-koto_ for
his amusement. They embarked in a boat and sailed down the river.
Early the next morning they arrived at the sea-coast of Naniwa. They
noticed the Oye Palace standing lonely amidst the group of pine trees.
The sight of this palace gave a thrill of sadness to Genji, who was
now leaving, and not returning, home. He saw the waves rolling on the
coast and again sweep back. He hummed, as he saw them:--

"The waves roll back, but unlike me,
They come again. "

From Naniwa they continued their voyage, sailing in the bay. As they
proceeded they looked back on the scenes they had left. They saw all
the mountains veiled in haze, growing more and more distant, while the
rowers gently pulled against the rippling waves. It seemed to them as
if they were really going "three thousand miles' distance. "[107]

"Our home is lost in the mist of the mountain,
Let us gaze on the sky which is ever the same. "

The day was long and the wind was fair, so they soon arrived at the
coast of Suma. [108] The place was near the spot where the exiled
Yukihira had lived, and had watched the beautiful smoke rising from
the salt ovens. There was a thatched house in which the party
temporarily took up their residence. It was a very different home from
what they had been used to, and it might have appeared even novel, had
the circumstances of their coming there been different. The
authorities of the neighborhood were sent for, and a lodge was built
under the direction of Yoshikiyo, in accordance with Genji's wishes.
The work was hurried on, and the building was soon completed. In the
garden, several trees, cherries and others, were planted, and water
was also conducted into it. Here Genji soon took up his abode. The
Governor of the province, who had been at Court, secretly paid
attention to the Prince, with as much respect as was possible.

For some time Genji did not feel settled in his new residence. When he
had become in some degree accustomed to it, the season of continuous
rain had arrived (May); his thoughts more than ever reverted to the
old capital.

The thoughtful expression of Violet's face, the childish affection of
the Heir-apparent, and the innocent playfulness of his little son,
became the objects of his reveries and anxiety, nor did he forget his
old companions and acquaintances. He, therefore, sent a special
messenger to the capital bearing his letters, so that speedy answers
might be returned from every quarter. He also sent a messenger to Ise
to make inquiry after the lady, who also sent one to him in return.

Now the young daughter of Udaijin had been remaining repentingly in
the mansion of her father since the events of the stormy evening. Her
father felt much for her, and interceded with the Empress-mother in
her behalf, and also with her son, that is, the Emperor, thus getting
permission to introduce her once more into Court, an event which took
place in the month of July.

To return to Suma. The rainy season had passed, and autumn arrived.
The sea was at some distance from the residence of Genji, but the dash
of its waves sounded close to their ears as the winds passed by, of
which Yukihira sang,

"The autumn wind which passes the barrier of Suma. "

The autumn winds are, it seems, in such a place as this, far more
plaintive than elsewhere.

It happened one evening that when all the attendants were fast asleep
Genji was awake and alone. He raised his head and rested his arms on
his pillow and listened to the sound of the waves which reached his
ear from a distance. They seemed nearer than ever, as though they were
coming to flood his pillows. He drew his _koto_ towards him and struck
a melancholy air, as he hummed a verse of a poem in a low tone. With
this every one awoke and responded with a sigh.

Such was a common occurrence in the evening, and Genji always felt
saddened whenever he came to think that all his attendants had
accompanied him, having left their families and homes simply for his
sake. In the daytime, however, there were changes. He would then enjoy
pleasant conversations. He also joined several papers into long rolls
on which he might practise penmanship. He spent a good deal of time in
drawing and sketching. He remembered how Yoshikiyo, on one occasion in
Mount Kurama, had described the beautiful scenery of the place on
which he was now gazing. He sketched every beautiful landscape of the
neighborhood, and collected them in albums, thinking how nice it would
be if he could send for Tsunenori, a renowned contemporary artist, and
get him to paint the sketches which he had made.

Out of all the attendants of Genji there were four or five who had
been more especially his favorites, and who had constantly attended on
him. One evening they were all sitting together in a corridor which
commanded a full view of the sea. They perceived the island of Awaji
lying in the distance, as if it were floating on the horizon, and also
several boats with sailors, singing as they rowed to the shore over
the calm surface of the water, like waterfowl in their native element.
Over their heads flocks of wild geese rustled on their way homeward
with their plaintive cry, which made the thoughts of the spectators
revert to their homes. Genji hummed this verse:--

"Those wandering birds above us flying,
Do they our far-off friends resemble.
With their voice of plaintive crying
Make us full of thoughtful sighing. "

Yoshikiyo took up the idea and replied:--

"Though these birds no friends of ours
Are, and we to them are nought,
Yet their voice in these still hours
Bring those old friends to our thought. "

Then Koremitz continued:--

"Before to-day I always thought
They flew on pleasure's wing alone,
But now their fate to me is fraught
With some resemblance to our own. "

Ukon-no-Jio added:--

"Though we, like them, have left our home
To wander forth, yet still for me
There's joy to think where'er I roam
My faithful friends are still with me. "

Ukon-no-Jio was the brother of Ki-no-Kami. His father, Iyo-no-Kami,
had now been promoted to be Hitachi-no-Kami (Governor of Hitachi), and
had gone down to that province, but Ukon-no-Jio did not join his
father, who would have gladly taken him, and faithfully followed
Genji.

This evening happened to be the fifteenth of August, on which day a
pleasant reunion is generally held at the Imperial Palace. Genji
looked at the silvery pale sky, and as he did so the affectionate face
of the Emperor, his brother, whose expression strikingly resembled
their father's, presented itself to his mind. After a deep and long
sigh, he returned to his couch, humming as he went:--

"Here is still a robe
His Majesty gave to me. "

It should be here noticed that he had been presented by the Emperor on
a certain occasion with a robe, and this robe he had never parted
with, even in his exile.

About this time Daini (the senior Secretary of the Lord-Lieutenant of
Kiusiu) returned to the capital with his family, having completed his
official term. His daughter had been a virgin dancer, and was known to
Genji. They preferred to travel by water, and slowly sailed up along
the beautiful coast. When they arrived at Suma, the distant sound of a
_kin_[109] was heard, mingled with the sea-coast wind, and they were
told that Genji was there in exile. Daini therefore sent his son
Chikzen-no-Kami to the Prince with these words: "Coming back from a
distant quarter I expected as soon as I should arrive in the capital
to have had the pleasure of visiting you and listening to your
pleasant voice, and talking of events which have taken place there,
but little did I think that you had taken up your residence in this
part of the country. How greatly do I sympathize with you! I ought to
land and see you at once, but there are too many people in the same
boat, therefore I think it better to avoid the slightest grounds which
may cause them to talk. However, possibly I shall pay you a visit
soon. "

This Chikzen-no-Kami had been for some time previously a Kurand (a
sort of equerry) to Genji, therefore his visit was especially welcome
to him. He said that since he had left the capital it had become
difficult to see any of his acquaintances, and that therefore this
especial visit was a great pleasure to him. His reply to the message
of Daini was to the same effect. Chikzen-no-Kami soon took his leave,
and returning to the boat, reported to his father and others all he
had seen. His sister also wrote to Genji privately thus: "Pray excuse
me if I am too bold.

Know you not the mind is swayed
Like the tow-rope of our boat,
At the sounds your Kin has made,
Which around us sweetly float. "

When Genji received this, his pleasure was expressed by his placid
smile, and he sent back the following:--

"If this music moves the mind
So greatly as you say,
No one would care to leave behind
These lonely waves of Suma's bay. "

This recalls to our mind that there was in the olden time an exile
who gave a stanza even to the postmaster of a village. [110] Why then
should not Genji have sent to her whom he knew this stanza?

In the meantime, as time went on, more sympathizers with Genji were
found in the capital, including no less a personage than the Emperor
himself. True it is that before Genji left, many even of his relatives
and most intimate friends refrained from paying their respects to him,
but in the course of time not a few began to correspond with him, and
sometimes they communicated their ideas to each other in pathetic
poetry. These things reached the ears of the Empress-mother, who was
greatly irritated by them. She said: "The only thing a man who has
offended the Court should do is to keep himself as quiet as possible.
It is most unpardonable that such a man should haughtily cause scandal
to the Court from his humble dwelling. Does he intend to imitate the
treacherous example of one who made a deer pass for a horse? [111]
Those who intrigue with such a man are equally blamable. " These
spiteful remarks once more put a stop to the correspondence.

Meanwhile, at Suma, the autumn passed away and winter succeeded, with
all its dreariness of scene, and with occasional falls of snow. Genji
often spent the evening in playing upon the Kin, being accompanied by
Koremitz's flute and the singing of Yoshikiyo. It was on one of these
evenings that the story of a young Chinese Court lady, who had been
sent to the frozen land of barbarians, occurred to Genji's mind. He
thought what a great trial it would be if one were obliged to send
away one whom he loved, like the lady in the tale, and as he reflected
on this, with some melancholy feelings, it appeared to him as vividly
as if it were only an event of yesterday, and he hummed:--

"The sound of the piper's distant strain
Broke on her dreams in the frozen eve. "

He then tried to sleep, but could not do so, and as he lay the distant
cry of Chidori reached his ears. [112] He hummed again as he heard
them:--

"Although on lonely couch I lie
Without a mate, yet still so near,
At dawn the cries of Chidori,
With their fond mates, 'tis sweet to hear. "

Having washed his hands, he spent some time in reading a Kio (Sutra),
and in this manner the winter-time passed away.

Towards the end of February the young cherry-trees which Genji had
planted in his garden blossomed, and this brought to his memory the
well-known cherry-tree in the Southern Palace, and the _fete_ in which
he had taken part. The noble countenance of the late ex-Emperor, and
that of the present one, the then Heir-apparent, which had struck him
much at that time, returned to his recollection with the scene where
he had read out his poem.

"While on the lordly crowd I muse,
Which haunts the Royal festive hours,
The day has come when I've put on
The crown of fairest cherry flowers. "

While thus meditating on the past, strange to say, To-no-Chiujio,
Genji's brother-in-law, came from the capital to see the Prince. He
had been now made Saishio (privy councillor). Having, therefore, more
responsibility, he had to be more cautious in dealing with the public.
He had, however, a personal sympathy with Genji, and thus came to see
him, at the risk of offending the Court.

The first thing which struck his eyes was, not the natural beauty of
the scenery, but the style of Genji's residence, which showed the
novelty of pure Chinese fashion. The enclosure was surrounded by "a
trellis-work of bamboo," with "stone steps," and "pillars of
pine-tree. "[113]

He entered, and the pleasure of Genji and To-no-Chiujio was immense,
so much so that they shed tears. The style of the Prince's dress next
attracted the attention of To-no-Chiujio. He was habited in a plain,
simple country style, the coat being of an unforbidden color, a dull
yellow, the trousers of a subdued green.

The furniture was all of a temporary nature, with Go and Sugorok
playing boards, as well as one for the game of Dagi. He noticed some
articles for the services of religion, showing that Genji was wont to
indulge in devotional exercises. The visitor told Genji many things on
the subject of affairs in the capital, which he had been longing to
impart to him for many months past; telling him also how the
grandfather of his boy always delighted in playing with him, and
giving him many more interesting details.

Several fishermen came with the fish which they had caught. Genji
called them in and made them show their spoils. He also led them to
talk of their lives spent on the sea, and each in his own peculiar
local dialect gave him a narration of his joys and sorrows. He then
dismissed them with the gift of some stuff to make them clothing. All
this was quite a novelty to the eyes of To-no-Chiujio, who also saw
the stable in which he obtained a glimpse of some horses. The
attendants at the time were feeding them. Dinner was presently served,
at which the dishes were necessarily simple, yet tasteful. In the
evening they did not retire to rest early, but spent their time in
continuing their conversation and in composing verses.

Although To-no-Chiujio had, in coming, risked the displeasure of the
Court, he still thought it better to avoid any possible slander, and
therefore he made up his mind to set out for his home early next
morning. The _sake_ cup was offered, and they partook of it as they
hummed,

"In our parting cup, the tears of sadness fall. "

Several presents had been brought from the capital for Genji by
To-no-Chiujio, and, in return, the former made him a present of an
excellent dark-colored horse, and also a celebrated flute, as a token
of remembrance.

As the sun shed forth his brilliant rays To-no-Chiujio took his leave,
and as he did so he said, "When shall I see you again, you cannot be
here long? " Genji replied,

"Yon noble crane that soars on high,[114]
And hovers in the clear blue sky,
Believe my soul as pure and light;
As spotless as the spring day bright.

However, a man like me, whose fortune once becomes adverse seldom
regains, even in the case of great wisdom, the prosperity he once
fully enjoyed, and so I cannot predict when I may find myself again in
the capital. "

So To-no-Chiujio, having replied as follows:--

"The crane mounts up on high, 'tis true,
But now he soars and cries alone,
Still fondly thinking of his friend,
With whom in former days he flew,"

set off on his homeward road, leaving Genji cast down for some time.

Now the coast of Akashi is a very short distance from Suma, and there
lived the former Governor of the province, now a priest, of whom we
have spoken before. Yoshikiyo well remembered his lovely daughter,
and, after he came to Suma with Genji, he wrote to her now and then.
He did not get any answer from her, but sometimes heard from her
father, to whom Genji's exile became soon known, and who wished to see
him for a reason not altogether agreeable to himself.